12 Days and Forever After
by darkmorsmordreheart
Summary: H/D. They'll only spend twelve days together and then they'll go back to their own lives. Nothing will change... Right? NonMagic.
1. The First

**Author's Note:** Merry Christmas! I love this holiday! I love how it feels, how it makes other people feel, the presents, the decorations, the food, even how it started right after Halloween (fuck Thanksgiving! jk!) but most of all, I love the fellowship it brings between friends and family members. I wrote this story for WiseDraco as her Christmas present because I know that she truly knows the meaning of friendship and family through Christmas, to the New Year, to Easter and beyond. Merry Christmas, WiseDraco, I love you with all my heart. I hope you and everyone else reading enjoys this story. And I hope that anyone feeling alone, like Draco does in this fic, learns to cherish the love shared on Christmas all throughout the year. Happy Holidays! _**– darkmorsmordreheart**_

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**Twelve Days and Forever After**

**The First**

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Christmas is one of those strange times of year, like Valentine's Day or New Year's, that creates an ache in the hearts of those without much family or friends or any type of love one, really, to surround oneself with. The yearning for companionship is the forefront in many a single person's mind.

And it only grows as the holiday season, itself, gets larger.

Christmas seemed to begin directly after Halloween this year. The stores took down their cardboard pumpkins and took orange and black candies from the shelf only to replace them with cardboard snowflakes and green and red candies. If I celebrated Thanksgiving, I'm sure I would have been offended … though, if I had anyone to even celebrate Thanksgiving with, I probably would have been in line early the next morning trying to catch a Black Friday sale.

Lucky for me, my nationality is English, so no excessive American holidays for me. I don't go to church, so no Easter for me. I never drink to excess, so there is no need for St. Patrick's Day. I had no permanent lover, so Valentine's, birthdays, New Year's, and any other thing I can possibly think of was out of the question. I _did_ have my best friend, who pitied me and insisted on taking me out to get laid in the summer time for my birthday, and my parents, who currently reside in France and whose presents – for their own birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas, and the like – are purchased early in the year and sent by my secretary at the according times.

The only time I had ever bought a Christmas present at Christmas time was for my previously mentioned best friend, Pansy Parkinson. One December morning, I found myself musing over her present on the subway. She was pregnant at the time, by her boyfriend and "future fiancé" by her definition, Blaise Zabini, so I supposed I would have to buy something for the child as well, since it would be here in the next season.

I ran my tongue over my teeth and grimaced; I needed to brush them. I pushed the reason why I did not have the chance to do so away and turned my phone on instead to check to see what messages I had missed from the night before. A few from Pansy just asking where I was and one from my secretary telling me that I would need to stop by my office later on in the day to pick up packages of new photographs from the last model shoot. I groaned and rubbed a small circle into the skin over my left temple. Like all normal people, I did not want to spend a minute of this cold winter Saturday at work, whether I was the boss or not. I bit my lip and shook my head, effectively sending my uncombed blond hair into my eyes and causing myself another groan of dissatisfaction. As I brushed the hair away with my fingers, I heard a slight giggle coming from my left and turned to see two young women whispering about me behind their hands while sending an occasional glance my way.

I groaned again. It was too early in the morning to be goggled by women who could not tell the difference between an interested straight man and a gay guy with a bad day already hovering over his head.

I did not look at the girls again during my stay on the subway, but that did not stop the giggling. I got off at the stop nearest to my apartment and shoved my hands into the deep pockets of my peacoat as soon as I stepped outside. I was missing my gloves for some reason and there was no way in hell I was going to retrace my steps from the night before.

When I got above ground, I walked down the street with my shoulders hunched and the portion of my face just under my reddened nose covered by my cashmere scarf, and thought of – drooled over more likely – the hot bath I would soon dive into. God, I was stupid for going out in the cold like this.

God, I was stupid for the night before.

I finally made my way into my apartment and it seemed, even as I slunk into the much lusted after bath, I could not run away from the night before… Nor the thoughts that plagued me of the man I spent it with.

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I was engaged to a man by the name of Dudley Dursley once upon a time.

I had just begun my career as a magazine editor for an up-and-coming New York fashion magazine, simply titled _The Craft_. The magazine, a product of my best friend's dazzling mind and her vision of the magic behind fashion. The magazine is her baby in reality; I am merely the editor and she prefers to interview the occasional photographer or brainstorm with me for the occasional Christmas issue. All in all, Pansy's brainchild is my meal ticket and she never fails to remind me. I am often forced to escort her to functions and parties when her boyfriend is unable to.

And this is how I met my ex-fiancé.

Dursley the Dud, as Pansy calls him, is a newspaper editor and, perhaps, the most boring individual in the entire world whose only redeeming quality seems to be that he is English.

But he was also a boxer and had a chin just strong enough and a jaw line just sharp enough to make me take notice of him, despite his slight gut and massive arms. Oh, his arms – what I would not have given to have woken up in _his_ arms that morning.

Instead, I thought to myself as I sunk into a tub full of bubbles, I woke up in his cousin's. That thought alone made me consider sinking into the fragrant water up to my eyeballs and testing how close to drowning I could get, but I pushed that thought away and leaned my head back against my bath cushion. Lord, what did I do?

I slept with my ex-fiancé's cousin, that's what I did.

I growled softly to myself for a moment for not bringing a bottle of something into the tub with me. I mean, I did have a few drinks the night before, but at this point I was willing to break my rule of keeping drinking to a minimum. How much had I drunk the night before? One, maybe two glasses of wine and a flute of champagne? Surely not enough to make me throw away the inhibitions I have spent most of my life collecting?

Many of the bubbles had disappeared by the time I admitted to myself that the company Christmas party I had attended last night made me lonely – the only explanation for the drinks and for… him.

I honestly should have seen it coming.

He is a photographer; renown, of course. His range is wide; from portraits of celebrities to landscapes that have all sold for thousands… tens of thousands.

Like Pansy, my ex-fiancé and myself, he hails from London, but his job as a much in demand artiste leads him all over the world. Because of his constant jet-setting, it surprises me that since ending my engagement to his cousin, I just cannot stop seeing him. He is everywhere.

At social functions Pansy forces me to attend. At photo shoots he decided to just "drop in" on. In my offices being personally interviewed by my interns. And last night, at the company Christmas party… teasingly telling me that he wanted to interview the genius that tailored my pants and give the man a five page spread in sheer gratitude.

I remember making out with him on the office's icy balcony.

And I remember making out with him on his balcony.

And I remember an assortment of other things, but the most important memory was waking up this morning with his arms and scent around me.

When I woke up, I was so warm and comfortable that I was confused as to why I had even awoken in the first place. I wanted nothing more than slip back into the peaceful existence I found in the downy quilt and pillows and the heavy weight of an arm around my torso, but as I closed my eyes again to do just that, a cloud must have shifted and revealed the sun or something of that nature because, suddenly, my blissful black became a panicked red. The universe was telling me to get up and leave.

So, I did.

As sneakily as possible.

It took several minutes to wiggle away from the body that had spent the previous few hours perfectly forming to mine. It was hardest to get away from his hand – I had discovered it in my hair five minutes into my task – and every time I felt his fingers trail against my scalp, I had to suppress a fit of shivers.

When, finally, I got away from him, I stood at the foot of his massive bed, naked as the day I was born… and stared at him.

He was gorgeous.

I admit, however, that it was strange to see him without his iconic glasses and even stranger to see him with his eyes closed. I remember from the night before when he took off his glasses, it was so hard for me to look away from his amazing green eyes; especially as they looked down at me when we had finally made it to the bed. With the absence of the warmth of my body, he seemed to be slowly curling into himself beneath his black comforter. His hand was still where my head had been a few moments prior, but his other arm was pulled against his chest. He was slowly turning onto his stomach and my eyes delightfully ate up every inch of skin on his broad shoulders and wide back revealed in the movement.

After a while of allowing my gaze to feast on him, I turned away and gathered my clothing… at least the garments that were in the bedroom. I was grateful to his wood floors because they had the decency not to creak when I tiptoed out of the room in search of my shirt and blazer. I found my shirt in the living room, on the couch I had been pinned to hours before and my blazer was on the kitchen floor, next to the spilled glass of wine he had knocked over in his haste to kiss me.

I saw my coat and shoes by the front door and rushed to them – as quietly as possible, of course – but as I reached for my coat, I realized that my wrist was empty and my Cartier was missing. After a quick scanning of the area around me and a slight panic attack, I realized that the only place the watch could possibly be was in the bedroom… with him.

And it was. Oh his nightstand where he had placed it in the process of making love to me. He had made a joke about not wanting me to look at the time or anything else but him that was funny at the time… Or maybe it wasn't funny. Or maybe I'm just not funny so I cannot convey it correctly. The point is: I needed my watch and it was too close to his glorious body for comfort.

As quietly as possible, I tiptoed across the room to the side of the bed he lay closest to and I snatched my watch. I tried not to look at him as I placed the device on my wrist, but I could not seem to help myself or the fantasies of sinking my hands back into the wild, dark hair that kept popping up in my mind. So, after forcing my gaze away, I softly made my way back to the doorway with the intention of hurrying out of the apartment and back to the real world and my own life where I did not sleep with ex-fiancés' cousins.

However, a voice, cool and awake, interrupted my intentions.

"Draco, close the draperies before you leave, would you?"

When I climbed out of the bathtub, I no longer held onto the delusion that I could not remember the night before. I remembered it, as clearly as I remember the feel of Harry Potter's arm tightening around my waist that morning. I remembered. And I still wanted it. Blast it.

Blast it all to hell.

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**A/N:** Draco's narrative voice gives me the giggles. Reviews for Christmas? _**-DMH**_


	2. The Second

**Author's Note:** I think I'll post one or two additional chapters to this before Christmas and then no more until after New Years. Please let me know what you think of the story. I haven't written in a while and I'm nervous about how this story will turn out. **_-DMH_**

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**Twelve Days and Forever After**

**The Second**

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"What is it?"

Pansy Parkinson's face fell as she stared at me over the potted plant she had just set on my desk.

"Christmas flowers, you prat," she said flatly as she fidgeted with a few wide, wrinkled red petals. "Poinsettias."

"They're absolutely garish. Get them off of my desk," I replied with a shooing motion of my hands. She had the nerve to pout as if she expected me to keep the large, tacky thing in my office of contemporary furniture and cool blues and pale greens. Christmas was for outside with the common folk. Inside my office, there was no Christmas, just end of the year taxes, packages of photographs to review and stale coffee.

Tsking softly, The Great White (as I had taken to calling her in my head) circled around my desk until she was sitting on the edge of it with a foot propped against a leg of my chair. "Why are you even here today, Draco? It's Saturday."

"Why are you here?"

"Because you're here and I needed to see you." She grinned at the flowers on the desk. "Happy Christmas!"

"Well, I needed to work. Madeline called and told me this morning that Santiago's new photographs are in. I need to review them and have an opinion on them all by Monday." I held up the large yellow envelopes filled with my justification.

"Yes, yes, I understand," she said as she pushed my hands and the envelopes back down to my desk. "So take them home with you."

"I'll handle it here."

I could tell that she was choosing her next words carefully just from her body language. Her head was tilted down just so and her chocolate brown bangs covered her eyes for just a moment as she gather her thoughts. Then her cool gaze was back on mine, sharp and determined. "I could go home with you and help you go through the photos."

I had to stop myself from growling out my response. "And why would you suggest that?"

She looked affronted, but I happened to know that she practiced such expressions on a daily basis. "Well, you obviously don't want to be home alone. I know for a fact that Madeline told you just to pick up the photos because I'm the one who told her to tell you that. And I also know for a fact that you always give your final word on a spread by Wednesday, not Monday!"

"Maybe I'm trying to be more efficient!"

"Or maybe you're avoiding going back to that empty apartment you hole yourself in every year!"

And this is how the annual dramatic and pensive conversation Pansy and I had every Christmas begun that December.

I knew the affronted expression on my face was neither practiced nor a desired effect. I chose my next words carefully as I stood and walked to the decanter of brandy that sat at the wall opposite of the plate glass windows I used to admire the rest of the world. "I do not hole myself in my apartment every year."

"You do," she rebutted albeit a bit weakly. She hadn't moved her position at all, even though she was no longer facing me, she just merely turned her head to the side so that I could hear her next words clearly. "You do… Every year… But what I find strange is why you're not at home right now, wrapped in that cashmere Snuggie and watching holiday special marathons with your two friends, Box-o-Chocolates and Pinot Noir." She paused as if she expected me to respond, then she stood and, like a Great White Shark, she hunted me down. "What changed between now and yesterday that is making you forget to forget?"

I tossed back my brandy unwisely and winced as it burned through me, but the warmth that reddened my face had nothing to do with it.

"Tell me, Draco."

"I…"

"You…?"

"I slept with… Harry. Last night… After the party." I caught a chill immediately after saying it and goosebumps covered the flesh of my arms despite my sweater and the brandy.

She was really, very quiet then and I turned to look at her, she was closer but her back was still towards me. She seemed to be looking out the window, to New York and the snow blanketing it with millions of soft snowflake kisses. I poured another glass and sipped the caramel liquid while looking out at the city as well. I stepped to the large wall of glass and felt like I was in some type of reversed snow globe; the snow and scene still unattainable, still untouchable, but I was the one trapped inside. And I felt as if the city would get bored of me at any moment and place me back upon the bookshelf.

"So you slept with Harry and now you don't want to go home?"

When I turned to look at her again, Pansy had situated herself back onto a corner of the desk with her arms crossed over her chest and settled upon her round, pregnant middle. "Yes."

"Why don't you call him then?"

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The first time I met Harry James Potter was actually the first night I met Dudley.

Incidentally, it was at a Christmas party in London.

Pansy was just beginning the process of pitching and promoting her new idea of a magazine to editors and writers and publishers, so it was only natural for her to drag me along to a schmoozing party. For the life of me, to this day, I have no idea why she wanted to promote her fashion magazine to the employees of The Times newspaper. I'm still positive that all three of the people that ran the half-a-page style section at the time would not have been beneficial to her career, even if we had met them at that party.

At the time, Dudley was the Editorial Editor of The Times, but I was more concerned about the fact that he was blocking the punchbowl. When I expressed my concerned, he chuckled and bowed out of my way in a very gentlemanly way and, as I sipped the punch – some type of fruit drink someone had dumped champagne and citrus slices into – and winced at the taste, then I contemplated him over the rim of my glass.

Personally, I've always found Dudley attractive. He was certainly not handsome, but I had been with handsome men before and I found them not only troublesome, but bothersome as well. Handsome men usually came with more luggage than average, but one tended not to notice because it was packaged ever so nicely. So speaking to Dudley was not a hard task because he didn't carry the sense of entitlement that came from fantastic looks. However, I learned much later that his sense of entitlement was gradually noticeable, veiled as confidence and was ultimately the result of being a spoiled mama's boy.

But I digress.

Dudley was charming at that moment and not too much taller than I, which was a plus. I always liked the idea of having a partner I could literally see eye to eye with; it would make my overall dominance of the relationship seem all the more satisfying. His dark blond hair was a nice, combed back length that suited his face. His tuxedo was neat if not in season and when I complimented him on it, he accepted graciously and admitted that the shoulders of it had gotten a bit tight ever since he had taken up boxing again. He was obviously clever, in a way, having found a plausible approach towards inserting the fact that he boxed into our conversation. I could say that he impressed me that night, but that would be a lie. I had met men more charming than him, better looking, better dressed and even those with a better job, but I had walked away from all of them. However, Dudley was different. He had a cousin named Harry Potter.

I met _him_ perhaps ten minutes before I met Dudley. I was avoiding Pansy as she had taken to latching herself on my arm and introducing me to everyone we met as a writer for a small, competing newspaper that probably did not even register as a blip on the radar of The Times staff. I was in search of a drink because it seemed as if the only thing the servers were serving was champagne and assorted liquors that didn't appeal to me.

The piano player off the side of the room had begun to play Bach's _Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring - _a favorite of my mother's around Christmastime - so I made my way across the room to watch the pianist. I had always been fascinated by the way the artists' fingers glided across the keys, so I kept my focus on that for a moment before I felt as if someone was watching me.

I immediately looked around, trying to determine whether or not Pansy had found me and what would be the best escape route, but I paused when my gaze met with a bespectacled one.

He was speaking to another man who was short and slight with wispy blond hair that curled at his temple and a goofy smile of flirtation that stretched from ear-to-ear. The man with the glasses looked incredibly tall next to this… boy and, honestly, my heart began to race. I had always loved being with a tall man no matter what I deluded myself into thinking.

With a smooth smile and a swipe of a hand through incredibly thick, almost harshly black hair, the bespectacled man bent down to whisper into the ear of the slight blond and whatever he may have said was obviously very… appealing because the blond's smile widened, his cheeks reddened, and he was nodding fiercely – all actions done very simultaneously. With a nod, the brunet walked away from the boy, who watched him with moony eyes, and he came to me.

"Hello," he said. "I'm Harry Potter."

He was… familiar. I had heard the name before; he was a photographer and was gaining fame for infamously not being able to choose or keep a medium or subject for long periods of time. He was also a playboy and, I must admit, I could see why. His tuxedo fit perfectly.

I shook his offered hand and introduced myself as well. He asked me a few questions about myself, I answered them while noticing that his eyes were green and swooning in my head, he told me that he had read and enjoyed an article I had written for a local newsletter and I wanted him to take me on the floor right then and there.

And he knew it. The look in his eye told me he did. And it told me what he had planned for me; kissing, teasing and then he would take me to bed and it would be fantastic.

I found myself blushing many times in our conversation and he was gradually moving closer and closer to me, but I was afraid to step back because I was almost certain that he would pin me to the piano if I did. So I stayed rooted where I was, soaking in every one of his statements in search of innuendo and I was growing so hot in his presence that I wanted to melt and die.

When Pansy arrived to drag me off to meet someone new, I wanted to kiss her. Only now will I ever admit that I was frightened of Harry and what he could do to me, but that night I pretended as if I did not know and, with a bland smile, I waved myself away from him.

And ten minutes later, I found myself at the punch bowl with a man named Dudley Dursley who was already a big name in newspapers. Talking to Dudley had so… dulled my senses, that I felt as if I had been doused with a bucket of ice water and then promptly electrocuted when Harry stepped up and clapped the man on his shoulder. My body, so relaxed and calm near Dudley, was suddenly alert and on fire at the sight of him. He was taller, he was leaner and, my God, he was more handsome than Dudley. More handsome than any other man in the room.

"I see you've met my cousin," said Harry, his grin feral and his eyes territorial. It was on the tip of my tongue to apologize and assure him that his cousin and I had done nothing but share a harmless conversation.

Dudley, in his ignorance of the imaginary relationship with his cousin that had suddenly sprouted in my head, chuckled and nodded. "Yes, I was just about to ask Draco if he would like to attend a play with me next week."

"Were you?" Harry asked with a purse of his lips. He turned to me and raised an eyebrow expectantly. When I turned to the other, Dudley's brow was raised in question as well and I was horrified to finally see the family resemblance despite how less than obvious it was.

"I'd love to," I found myself saying. My answer was an automatic result of the fear I wouldn't admit until years after. Then, I had tricked myself into thinking that no man was going to one-up me by making me admit that I wanted to spend the rest of my evening screaming into a pillow and tugging a dark head into my sensitive areas. "That sounds delightful."

Three years later, Dudley and I were engaged and I was deeply in love with him.

It did not take long for me to realize (or decide) the difference between my want of him and my want of Harry. With Harry, I saw a man as a mountain. I wanted to climb him, to conquer or be conquered. He was an empty challenge I did not need in my life. Dudley was safe and easy. I would not lose him.

So family dinners were unspeakably awkward, what with Dudley's father glaring at me over goose or Dudley's cousin leering at me over desert, but I did not fear its effect on our relationship. I loved him and he loved me and we were to be married and after two years of engagement, moving to the United States together confirmed that for me. I don't think I'd ever been so happy in my life.

Then one day for the first time, Dudley had insisted on Black Friday shopping. There was just something that he had to get for his mother on that exact day and it could not be avoided.

We had gotten into a fight. I cannot even remember what it was really about, but I had started with a comment of how finicky his mother was. And the woman really was, but I shouldn't have said it. And he walked away from me. Abandoned me in the middle of the mall like a lost child.

The next day, after spending the night in our Manhattan apartment alone, I received a phone call from him and I met him for lunch, in a very public restaurant, at a very public table and he told me that he wanted to break off our engagement because he didn't love me and because he didn't think I could ever understand him or even love him the way he needed to be loved.

"But I do love you," I told him, forcing my voice down, but it seemed as if the strain of that action had taken a toll on my body and tears of pain rolled out of my eyes. I could not control them, those painful tears, the result of forcing my voice down, not a response to the conversation. Never that.

"I know," he said and he looked rather uncomfortable in the next moment as he cleared his voice, took a sip of water, looked everywhere but my eyes, my stupid eyes that immediately turn red whenever I cry. "I know you love me, but…"

I know you love me, but.

"…I need someone who loves me _differently_."

_Better_.

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"I can't call Harry," I told Pansy and she shook her head and turned from the world outside to look at me in our own personal snow globe.

"Please?"

So, when I returned to my empty apartment with the large, garish flowers, I sat in front of my phone.

And two hours later, I called Harry and invited him to dinner. He was charming, as always, and I enjoyed watching him eat. I think he enjoyed watching me drink, his eyes were riveted to my throat every time I moved to take a sip of water.

He made love to me again. In my empty apartment. So it wasn't empty anymore.

Me, Harry, and the poinsettias.

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The next morning when I woke up in his arms again, I didn't even have a moment to think about it before I felt his mouth moving against my neck and his hand moving between my legs. I heartily invited the wonderful thoughtlessness that went into the lovemaking that followed.

Afterwards, I was panting against Harry's chest as it rose and fell with my hand tangled in his hair and I began to think. About everything. And especially about Dudley.

I felt disgusting and pulled myself away.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked and God, he was gorgeous. Just to look at him, tired and sweaty, out of breath and still alerted to me and my feelings, it hurt my heart.

I clinched my jaw and restrained myself from sobbing, but a few tears leaked out without regard to my efforts. "I used you… Last night and this morning. Just now – I used you."

The alarm in his eyes went away slowly and he sat up until he was level with me. "I know." He cupped my face in his large hands and tilted it up. He seemed to watch the slow glide of my tears as they traced over my cheeks and hung precariously on my jaw, then he caught them with his lips before they fell.

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**A/N:** So much to explain, I know. I promise you'll see more of Harry's personality in time. See you next chapter. _**-DMH**_


	3. The Third

**Author's Note:** Alright guys, last chapter until 2012 (hopefully I'll have more reviews by then - cuz you know I'm fishing for them! lol). Happy ChristmaHanaKwanzikah to you all. And Happy New Years. Love, **_darkmorsmordreheart_**.

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**Twelve Days and Forever After**

**The Third**

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"You know?" I asked just as his lips began to collect the teardrops at the corner of my frown. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I know that you used me. I didn't mind," he said, quickly taking advantage of my open mouth and revealed tongue and when he pulled away, he added, "At the time."

"At the time?"

Instead of answering, he climbed over me, out of the bed and walked towards my bathroom. I merely watched him, in silence and confusion. Then, finally, I sat up in the middle of the bed just as the toilet was flushing and I called out, "Get back here and tell me what you mean!"

"Can't hear you over the toilet!" he called back. "Do you have an extra toothbrush?"

With a huff and in a rush, I stood, quickly recovered from the knee-buckling reaction the recent lovemaking had given me and marched to my bathroom. I snatched my silk robe off the hook near the door and wrapped it around me before opening a cabinet by the sink and pulling out a new toothbrush. I set it on the counter instead of putting it in the hand held expectantly out to me.

He chuckled and picked it up to unwrap. "Green? Don't you have red?"

"No."

"Toothpaste?"

"That dispenser there."

"This one?"

I waited until he had placed the white goo covered brush into his mouth before saying, "No, that's hand soap. The dispenser next to it."

It took two consecutive brushes to get all the foam from the soap out of his mouth. On the second brushing, I chose to brush my own teeth and we stood, side by side, brushing in the mirror. Together. I had never before had an experience like that, not even with Dudley. I felt… domestic. When we finished, I gave him a towel and pushed him towards the shower so that I could do my private grooming things that I didn't want him to see. All the while he chatted with me and tried to entice me into the shower with him.

It was… different. And I kind of liked it.

When he exited the shower, I was hair-free in all the places I didn't want him to know ever had hair and he gave me a quick kiss before exiting the bathroom altogether.

"Let's go out for breakfast," he said from the bedroom as I adjusted the shower settings. "I know a nice coffee shop that isn't filled with Starbucks people."

I took a quick shower as I mulled over his suggestion.

Let's go out for breakfast.

He said it as if we regularly stayed in for breakfast. Or as if either one of us had invited the other for breakfast. Or as if the night before had not fully intended to be a one-off… Or a two-off… Did that morning make it a three-off?

I dressed carefully, even more carefully than I did when I prepared for dinner the night before. Then I wanted to convey myself as irresistible and wanting Harry to fill the space between my legs. But now… I had no idea how to dress to say I was confused and I wanted to get off of the ride. A pashmina scarf, maybe?

When I had finally dressed – in a simple grey buttondown, dark jeans, and a light blue silk cardigan (with a dark grey pashmina wrapped around my neck) – I stepped into the living room where Harry was waiting for me.

"You look handsome." I nodded at his compliment and moved towards the door where my boots and coat awaited. Harry stood and followed and we put our boots on together in silence. When I reached for my coat, strangely, he reached for my coat as well. In my confusion, I merely watched him as he took the coat and wrapped it around me. It wasn't until he was completely done buttoning my coat and kissing me on my nose that I realized what he had just done. I allowed him to hold the door open for me and even take my keys to lock it for me. He even handed me the gloves I had left over his house the day before. "I found them in my living room."

"Thank you," I said as we stepped into the elevator together. I watched my leather encased hands stretch and fold for awhile rather than look at him, but I could feel his eyes on me. "What did you mean?"

"What?" he asked, sounding as if I had taken him out of his own thoughts.

"In the bedroom earlier. What did you mean?"

"About what?"

I sighed and silently cursed the fact that I lived in a penthouse and, thus, was required to be in a tiny box with the most infuriating man in the world for so long. "When you said that, um, you knew about… You knew about, um… God."

My eyes were closed, but then he stroked a finger along my jaw and I looked up at him. He gave me a soft kiss, one I accepted, and he pulled away first with a small smile. "Let's talk about it over coffee. I reckon a little caffeine may clear our thoughts, yeah?"

"Maybe," I agreed. Then I blushed because I realized that I had just been charmed like a teenage girl, but before I could gather my wits about me, the elevator opened and Harry was already striding out.

We caught a cab to his little coffee shop and, I must admit, I liked it very much. It was indeed not filled to the brim with Starbucks people and it did not look chic in the slightest, but the coffee prices were high enough that I did not look out of place and neither did Harry. He was wearing the clothes he had on the night before, sans his black blazer, but the white of his shirt and the wrinkles my fisting hands put into it the night before did nothing to ruin the overall man-of-expensive-tastes look he had.

"I really enjoyed last night, if that's what you're worried about," he said just as I was beginning to sip my dark blend.

"I'm not worried about you!" I snapped. "I'm worried about… Well, I guess I am worried about you… I used you last night and what did you mean that you were okay with it? How was any of that okay? I used you without feeling. Without remorse! My thoughts were somewhere else! I… I was thinking of Dudley." I searched his eyes for something. Then, I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but now I realize I wanted to see if I hurt him in any way with my words. However, that was not the case. Harry merely chuckled and took the cup of black coffee out of my hand and replaced it with his own chai tea.

"Maybe too much caffeine is a bad thing," he teased and I rolled my eyes.

"I barely even tasted it. Now answer one of my questions."

He adjusted his glasses and sat back in his seat a bit with one arm resting on the back of his chair as if to better assess me and the situation.

"I was fine with last night because the night before was… different." I waited for him to go on, but I had to prod him with a spoon before he continued. "I'm okay with being used last night – and forty minutes ago – because I know for a fact that the night I took you home from that Christmas party, you wanted me – you really wanted me and no one else. And I know the only reason you were thinking of Dudley was _because_ of that first night with me."

I looked into his eyes and, beyond the glasses, through the green, I saw confidence in that statement. As if those were the truest words he had ever spoken. And I admitted, even then, that it was true. I was thinking of Dudley because he was the last man I slept with who meant anything to me. Sleeping with Harry… meant something to me. Something that could potentially be on par with my feelings about my ex-fiancé.

"I know you needed time to realize it," continued Harry. "I was mostly surprised when you called me last night, but… I understood that you needed to work through your feelings."

"Yes," I replied helplessly and Harry took my hand in his.

"I understand… It meant something to me, too. I always knew it would." All the air hurriedly left my body and I pulled my hand away so I could stare down at it and its brother in my lap. "Er… I promised you breakfast, didn't I? I'll get you a muffin." I nodded and Harry left the table.

It meant something to me, too.

Making love to me meant something to Harry Potter. I wasn't so much amazed at that as I was amazed that he could read me so well. He knew I felt the same way about that Friday night as he did and he wasn't afraid to admit it. When he came back with multiple muffins (because he didn't know which kind I liked), I was ready to speak with him.

"I'm grateful that you shared your feelings with me."

Apparently, he was not satisfied with this because he responded with, "But?"

"What do you mean by that, Potter?"

"I mean, Malfoy, what else do you have to say?" I narrowed my gaze in warning but his own eyes only brightened with more defiance. "You like that I shared my feeling, but what? Nothing's going to come of it? Is that what you think?"

"Is that what I – What the hell are you on about, Potter?"

He flattened his arms on the table and leaned over to me, over my muffins. "I'm trying to tell you that this is not school. We're not little boys anymore. I didn't just send you a note asking you to go to the dance with me. I'm not asking you to like me back, Draco. I already know that you do, so there's no need to act like you're not affected. I know you are. I felt it when I made love to you… Even last night, when you couldn't even feel it yourself."

I felt my face redden, so I scrunched it up as if in fury to mask all the other emotions I was feeling in that moment. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to stop thinking of ways to escape me. Don't run from me."

"I'm not! I'm not running! I feel like… like I'm, um, I'm walking in circles and I don't know which path to go down. I'm trekking uphill and I don't know what's waiting for me at the top. I don't want to do this."

"All these walking metaphors. That's anxiety, Draco."

"My therapist told me what it bloody is, Potter," I snarled and Harry sat back and laughed at me. I felt my anger leave me as quickly as I had summoned it and I laughed at myself as well. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I don't want this… I don't want a relationship," I told him after a silent moment of thought. "Especially not with you of all people – no offense."

"I'm not sure about that, but okay, I'll say, 'none taken' for the sake of politeness."

I returned his smile sadly and said again, "I don't want a relationship with you."

He nodded and stole a bite out of the muffin I was just about to pick up. "Tell you what, I'll think about that and I'll get back to you."

"You'll... You'll what? What? It's my decision, not yours!"

He stood, put his coat back on, and then he bent down and kissed me, slowly and sweetly; just as I had begged him to do several times the night before.

"Bye."

"Bye."

When he was gone and I was finally biting into my muffin – an interesting blend of cranberry and peach – the woman behind the coffee counter said, "Your boyfriend is lovely. Beautiful couple."

I nodded and thanked her.

oO0OoO0OoO0OoO0OoO0Oo

I tried with everything in me to throw myself into my work that afternoon, but that ended after an hour long phone conversation with Pansy and then meeting the Great White at the baby section in Bloomingdale's an hour after that.

"Maybe you should buy Potter something for Christmas… you know, for scratching all those itches you got," she giggled with a suggestive lift of her brows and a nudge of her elbow into my side.

"_Nice_," I replied as I held up a purple onesie. She shook her head and I set it down. "How many times do I have to tell you? I don't want to see him again."

"Right and what did he say to you right before he kissed you and left this morning?" My sour expression only made her smile wider. "Stop picking purple things! Blaise hates purple."

"Hates purple? He always wears purple."

"Because he looks fantastic in it. It looks good on his skin."

"Which means you force him to wear it."

"Yes," she said with a barracuda grin; all teeth. "Maybe we can give the baby one or two purple things. Little caramel baby – I'm sure her skin will look fantastic in them."

"'_Her_ skin'? Doctor confirmed or you just decided."

"I told you that Blaise didn't want us to know the sex just yet, but I can just tell it's a girl… Plus I made the doctor tell me."

"Ah yes, a mother's intuition to bypass her significant other's decision and call the doctor," I chuckled.

"Hush," she replied, but her red cheeks told me she was perfectly chided. "Enough about me –"

"That has to be the first time you've ever said that in your life."

" –tell me more about Harry… Is he anything like he was in our school days?"

I groaned and rolled my eyes, making a show before I intended to tell her I did not want to talk about the man who had been on my mind all day, but something she said had me stopping in my tracks – quite literally. Pansy almost left me behind on her warpath to the children's shoes. "School days? Whatever do you mean?"

Even smiling at baby booties, Pansy managed to send me a glance that told me I was insane. "When we were in boarding school?... Seriously, you don't remember?"

"You never said anything about him being in school with us! You never even mentioned it when I was w-with… Dudley."

Her eyes narrowed, then relaxed until they were just heavily hooded, sparing me the chance to gage any type of emotion from them. She traced the blue stitching of one tiny shoe thoughtfully. "I'm sorry, Draco, but I never liked talking of your relationship with the Dud and you would never answer my questions about your relationship with Harry."

"I never had a relationship with Harry!" I snapped, hoping to distract her from the flush that had suddenly appeared on my face.

She didn't even look at me; just shrugged and picked up another shoe. "I could tell that there was something going on because you never talked of him. I know he must have been at all those Christmas dinners with the Dudders –"

"Dursleys."

"Right." A roll of her eyes and Pansy was off again, presumably in search of the women's shoe department now that she had a taste for them. I followed faithfully. It wasn't until we paused to smell Chanel we already knew the scent of that we spoke again. "I suppose you never brought him up because you didn't remember him from school."

"I like to think I would remember going to school with a handsome, lecherous demon man who bested my height by half a head for seven years, Pansy."

She set down the scent after spraying some on my coat and was off again, her heels clicking in an ominous way I hadn't noticed before.

"There's a little thing called puberty, Draco. And it doesn't always begin at the most fortunate of times. It's what gave me breasts when I was nine, what made you slightly less pointy when you were sixteen and what gave a quiet boy with glasses half a meter and a voice for sex when he was eighteen."

"Quiet boy with…"

"Oh, sweet youth! Sweet horrid-haired, bespectacled, ragged-clothed youth!"

"What are you going on about, woman?" I had tried my hardest to conjure this image of Harry in school with me, but all I could imagine was him seated across the cafeteria from me, surrounded by his equally beautiful peers, ignoring how I drooled for him over my lunch. And maybe a fan or two for the purpose of blowing his hair back.

"Scarhead, stupid," she said as we reached the shoes. She pointed to several pairs, sending several salesmen off to retrieve them in her size and I knew the conversation was over. There _had_ been a boy we called Scarhead in school.

I frowned and I thought about it. And then I frowned some more.

oO0OoO0OoO0OoO0OoO0Oo

"Hello?"

"Hello, I didn't expect to hear from you so soon," I told Harry, clutching the phone to my ear with both hands.

"Well, I said I would get back to you on the issue and I meant to do it as soon as possible."

"This issue you speak of… What is it exactly? I thought I made clear that I didn't want any part of this."

He clucked his tongue at me and I could feel his smug smile. He said nothing in response to my statement, but I already knew his answer.

"I don't want this, Harry," I sighed. "I've decided."

"Well, I've decided that I can't accept that."

"You decided? You de – You can't do that! It's my decision that decides this!"

His answer was expectantly infuriating. "As I see it," he said, "a relationship relies on the cooperation of the two people involved, so - going on that - I figure deciding not to be in a relationship also relies on the cooperation of the two involved."

"So what are you saying?" I asked flatly.

"I'm not cooperating. What else could I possibly be saying?"

"You can't force me into a relationship with you, Potter!"

"And you can't force me to _not_ be in a relationship with you."

Resisting the urge to slam the phone down, I said, "Stop it, Harry. Please."

I have no idea whether or not it was the tone of my voice that filmed our conversation with tension. I remember immediately regretting saying it, not because I didn't mean it, but perhaps because Harry knew I meant it. And more importantly, why I meant it.

When next he spoke, his voice was soft and careful. It was almost as if he were cooing a wounded animal.

"Draco… What are you doing for Christmas?"

"What do you mean?"

"How are you spending your Christmas? Are you going on a trip? Spending it with family?"

It almost hurt, these questions.

Actually, they did hurt. Especially coming from Harry. Anyone but him.

"I'm sorry, love."

I curled into my armchair with my legs folded under me and covered my mouth. My eyes were only watery… My vision was only blurry because I was so tired.

"I'm sorry, Draco."

"No," I managed to grunt. I winced at how unattractive my voice sounded, so I cleared my throat. "No… Don't worry about it."

"I can't help but worry about it," Harry told me and the instant warmth that statement brought me had me cradling the phone like a teenage girl once more. "Draco, I know that you don't take me seriously – In all the years knowing one another, Lord knows I've never given you a reason to." I smiled and nodded dumbly. "I don't need you to trust me right now… All I can ask is for a chance. Do you think you could spare me one? I want you to trust me – Give me a chance to show you that you can."

God. How the hell was I supposed to respond to that? I had no witty reply that compared to my earlier quips in prior conversations with this man. I couldn't make a joke; the mood for that had since left us – and quickly at that. I didn't know what to say, so that's exactly what I told Harry. He chuckled and the humor I thought had died was alit once more and dispelling most of the tension our seriousness had caused.

"Spend Christmas with me."

"I can't," I snapped immediately and Harry laughed at me.

"Saw that coming, did you?"

"You have a way of avoiding the point when you want to explain something."

"How's this then: I want you to spend Christmas with me… Starting tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Christmas is more than a week away."

"Twelve days." He said. "Ever heard of that? I think we already missed a couple."

"Don't you have family and friends that expecting you?"

"You already know my family and my friends already know how long I've been pining for you. They'll understand."

"Harry…"

"Draco… Be with me for Christmas. Just Christmas."

He asked me to be with him as if it were nothing, but he wanted far too much.

And at the same time, too little.

In hindsight, I know that in this moment, I wanted nothing more that to give into everything he asked, but my reservations stood like a wall between me and my wants.

"I don't know, Harry."

"Well, it's late… Sleep on it. Then meet me with an answer in the morning."

"Meet you where?"

"Our coffee shop," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Right."

"Which muffin was your favorite?"

"What? Are you treating me to breakfast a second time? What a gentleman."

"Which muffin, you prat?... So I can have it waiting for you."

I hummed thoughtfully. "Hmm, I think… all of them."

"All of them?"

"Yes. And blueberry scones."

"You git."

oO0OoO0OoO0OoO0OoO0Oo

**A/N:** It's beginning to look a lot like romance… No matter how reluctant Draco is trying to be. Leave me some reviews and I'll make you muffins! You know, the kind you can _read_! (That makes no sense…) _**-DMH**_


	4. The Fourth

**A/N: **Happy New Year! _**-DMH**_

oO0OoO0OoO0OoO0OoO0Oo

**Twelve Days and Forever After**

**The Fourth**

oO0OoO0OoO0OoO0OoO0Oo

"Good morning, love."

Harry greeted me with a smile, a pile of napkins and a hot cup of coffee. He pulled me into a sloppy hug and used the arm he had around me to tug me towards a table. I spared a glance at the cashier – the same older woman from before – and she gave me an encouraging smile of approval that I just had to return. I was guided to my chair, Harry paused to press a fleeting kiss to my mouth, but before sitting down himself, he waved his hands in exaggerated presentation and revealed a plate full of muffins hidden under the pile of napkins.

After my laughter at his antics died down, I took a sip of my coffee and smiled at him – rather shyly, I must admit. "Thank you for all this."

His eyes were bright and warm as he beamed at me. "It's nothing… I just really – There's no easy way to say this without making an arse of myself, is there?" I sent a puzzled look his way and he blushed. It was utterly adorable. "Er… I just really want to give you a… reason, I reckon. To be with me, that is."

"I suppose providing me with delicious coffee and plying me with muffins is reason enough to keep you around for a bit."

I would liken the expression on Harry's face then to that of an excited puppy getting its ears rubbed just right.

"A bit?"

"Until Christmas," I said pointedly and almost regretted saying. He didn't show it much, but I could tell his mood had diminished somewhat. "That _was_ the initial proposal, correct?"

As if I had issued him a challenge – which I suppose was exactly what I had just done – his eyes were once more alight with something that filled my stomach with unease. I felt as if I had already lost.

"Your place or mine?" he asked with a wicked grin.

Challenge accepted.

oO0OoO0OoO0OoO0OoO0Oo

I was almost reluctant to allow Harry into my flat once more. "Think of all the horizontal surfaces you can be ravished upon, Draco," my mind was screaming. "Bloody hell, think of the vertical surfaces."

As I eyed my disquieting walls, I aimed Harry towards my couch and fled to my bedroom.

"I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this," became my whispered mantra. I gritted it out through my teeth as I stomped to my closets. I hummed it as I yanked out several suitcases. I set it to the tune of Beethoven's Ninth as I zipped up a bag full of my hair products. Just as I was musing over which pair of Ferragamos I should choose – and had reached an improvised crescendo – long arms wrapped around my torso and pulled me into a warm, wide chest.

A kiss to my neck and I was a puddle. "I'm packing," I managed to mutter and Harry laughed to play along with my game. As if my mind was not complete mush, he whispered into my hair something about having a cab ready downstairs and some other thinking thing I could not process and my reply was to turn in his arms. I nuzzled his chin with the tip of my nose, took in his spicy, rosewood scent. His arms tightened around me and I felt wanted.

"This is why I'm doing this. This is why I'm doing this."

"What?" Harry chuckled and I kissed him silent.

I held my mouth to his for a few moments until my mind was able to function properly. Gently pressing his chest to push him back, I turned to my polished shoes and picked a pair to place in my bag. "A taxi is downstairs now?"

"Yes. Are you ready?"

I nodded and looked towards my bags. He looked towards them as well, but only got the message to pick up the largest of the two when I cleared my throat expectantly. I smiled at his gallantry and followed him out of the room with my toiletry bag bouncing happily against my hip.

It almost surprised me how his building was so close to mine, but how his large presence in the confined space of a car could make a ten minute trip seem an hour long. I had always been disconcerted regarding the impact Harry had on me, even when I was with his cousin. I avoided being alone in rooms with him, not only because he very, obviously wanted to sleep with me the first couple years of my relationship with Dudley, but also because I always felt like giving him too much of my attention would make me realize… how bright the world seemed around him.

Pansy has always been insistent on the miracles good sex can bring. Colors are brighter, food tastes better and dumpy, boring boyfriends were all the more tolerable. Because of these reasons, I avoided climbing Great Mount Harry, as my friend so elegantly referred to him. Years later, in a dirty New York taxi, I learned my slutty friend was speaking the gospel truth and not just because the winter sun shining through the tinted car window warmed my skin like the sun never had before. And not because the strong patchouli scent of the driver was now nothing more than a subtle potpourri. No, Harry was something amazing to my senses; decadent, unique, exotic and familiar all at once.

Now that I was giving him my attention, I was discovering innumerable reasons to be as intrigued with him as I was and, really, had always been. Despite my apprehension about the entire Christmas situation, my mood was happier and more open than it had been in a long time. I had no problems sending him dopey smiles across the cab seat and I even warmed at each dopey grin Harry returned. Of course, by the time we made it to his building, I felt as if my entire existence was made of unwanted blushes and the sudden need for trousers that fit looser around the crotch.

I only had to nudge him once to remind him to tip the driver before he lugged my bag into the lobby. I thanked him with a kiss in the elevator and even allowed him to grope me _just a little_ when we made it into his apartment. When my mind began to remind me of the many horizontal and vertical surfaces Harry could, would, should and _had_ taken me on, I pulled away and asked, "Where is the room I will be staying in?" just to see how purple his face could get.

Magenta.

He attempted to rub the color away, but the confusion was still very evident.

"I thought… Um, I suppose I shouldn't have assumed… Er…"

I nodded. "You should be. When I agreed to this I didn't know that I was merely to be your… _kept man_ for the holiday."

"I didn't mean it like that –"

I puffed up my chest a bit and imitated the way my father looked down his nose to his employees. "I should think not. I apologize if my actions during the last couple of days gave you the impression that I was to be flat on my back, warming your bed for the duration of the holiday season, but I'm not like that – And I'm quite offended that you could ever think that."

Amaranth. A bit. In the cheek area. I lifted a hand and shook my head to stop his response (and before the introduction of plum to his complexion).

"I'm joking. Carry my bags to your bedroom," I chuckled, slinging the bag at my hips into his solar plexus. I sauntered towards the kitchen, my smile only growing wider with my mirth. "Is it after noon yet? Do you want a glass of wine?"

Without waiting for an affirmative, I was in the kitchen and my adorable Harry was trying to figure out what spending Christmas with me would entail.

oO0OoO0OoO0OoO0OoO0Oo

We spent the afternoon chatting over red wine, cheese and grapes; an afternoon I had always wanted but never had with Dudley.

We spoke of his art, his photography. And as he told me how to catch a perfect Tuscan sunset on film the correct way, I found myself setting my glass on the coffee table and crawling to his side of the couch to snuggle into his lap. To give him credit, he didn't spill his wine and his speech on lenses didn't even halt as he adjusted us into comfortable positions. Instead, he traced his fingers along the tips of mine, as if to memorize the ridges of my fingerprints, and he told me how the Adriatic Sea looked from the Apennine Mountains in the wintertime.

"I can't believe you're an editor to a fashion magazine and you've only been to Italy four times," he said against the rim of my ear some time later.

"Pansy usually goes in my stead during fashion week. She likes the city."

"Pansy, of course," he snorted and I almost turned my head to watch his eyes roll. "You don't like the city?"

"I suppose… It's not like New York or London."

"Nothing's like New York or London." He lifted my hand and pressed my knuckles against his lips. I shifted a bit to watch his face carefully. "New York's history is ingrained, seen in flashes through grit and attitude and London is a bit of the same, but Italy… the history is out in the open. Shown in golden architecture and smiling faces, not eclipsed by bright lights or smog."

"That's extremely biased," I said and I pulled his arms tighter around me. "Horridly biased."

He smiled and nodded. "True, but I still think that you need to really experience it; the places, the art, the people, the landscapes…"

I lifted the glasses off of his nose to better look at the light his words brought to those green eyes. "Why do you love photography so much? Where does this passion come from?"

I'm sure he had answered that question in interviews so many times before. Countless times. But the question coming from my lips gave him pause. He even reddened a bit as he mulled over it.

"My aunt," he said after a while and I lifted my head from his shoulder to look him in the eye.

"Petunia?"

He nodded and took the glasses I had been absently playing with into his own hands. He folded them and placed the pair on the table next to our wine and fruit. "Yes, my mother's sister Petunia."

Intrigued, I leaned even more into him. "You know how they say you can see beauty in everything?" he asked and I smirked. That cliché was applicable to many things, but Dudley's skinny, horse-faced mother who had an attitude less appealing than her limp blonde hair fell to the bottom of _that_ list. Harry only laughed at the curve of my lips before continuing. "Seriously, Petunia's a beautiful woman under all… _that_."

"How so?" I asked, skeptical with the knowledge of countless awkward dinners at Number 4 Privet Drive.

"Well, I'm her dead sister's only child who she raised from infancy."

"From what I've heard," _from Dudley_, "she was never much of a mother to you."

"No," he agreed and, even though he was looking at me, his gaze grew distant. "But sometimes she would say things to me – like if I was going out. She'd say, 'Be careful. Don't stay out too late,' like she cared… Uncle Vernon never liked me and I was alright with that most of the time… We ignored each other. And she would ignore me most of the time as well, but sometimes she would look at me like – She would look at me… I know she loves me in her way. I just have to look for it."

I raised a hand to cup his cheek, but he shook his head and reached for a wineglass.

"I'm alright… I mean, it was hard to find, but when I did, it was beautiful."

"You like that beauty?" I prompted when he fell a bit too silent and contemplative for my comfort.

He nodded and offered me a sip from his glass which I took with a kind smile. "I do. And I look for it in everything now." He lost the distant look and set his gaze to mine. "You're beautiful, Draco."

"I hope you didn't have to search too hard," I said, but my cheeks heated with pleasure regardless.

"Just a little," he teased. He looked as if he wanted to add something else, but he kissed my temple instead. "So… That was a… something."

"It certainly was a something."

I glanced at him long enough to just catch his sudden revelation of how awkward it was to suddenly reveal so much of oneself to another person and I moved to get out of his way. Like I knew he would, he stood with a sudden awareness of his surroundings and he gathered the dishes we had made and fled to the kitchen with a rushed explanation about tidying up. I smiled and curled my legs under myself comfortably.

Listening intently, I used the clink of glass and porcelain coming from the other room to settle my own thoughts, mostly about the conversation we just had, but also a fleeting one that told me that Harry and I would share several more similar conversations during my stay.

Harry returned minutes later with an easy smile and kiss for me as always, but this time accompanied by an idea.

"We should get decorations."

"Decorations?"

"Yeah. Look at this place!" he exclaimed with a sweep of his arm. "I invite you to stay with me for Christmas and you can't even tell that anything special's happening."

"I don't mind."

"Of course you don't because you're polite." He reached out to me and I allowed him to pull me to my feet. "Let's make this place festive."

"Festive?"

He nodded and yanked me to be pressed against his chest – I was beginning to feel like a ragdoll, but I didn't mind too much when he pressed his mouth against my neck.

"Yes, festive. Tell me, how did you envision Christmas as a child?"

As another day besides my birthday for presents, but I couldn't possibly say that. Harry was fishing for something sweet and sentimental. Something beautiful and heartwarming enough to grace the inside of a holiday card. My Christmases had never been like that. Yes, I was spoiled and, yes, I was loved by my parents, but Christmas was merely the day that I got everything I wanted all at once as opposed to just one at a time. Our Christmas tree was always too large, the Manor too regal a place to hang lights on, and we each sat at least four feet from one another during dinner – which never once consisted of roast beast, but more often than not, a lemon chicken recipe my mother had the chef learn.

However, Harry was looking at me with wide eyes, hopeful and waiting.

"I dunno," I copped out. "How did you envision it?"

He blushed and held onto me a little bit tighter. "Christmas usually always left me wanting. Dudley always got more presents than I did." He was lying, I knew. Dudley had told me that his pile of presents always grew by one every year and that Harry's was nonexistent altogether. But I didn't reveal what I knew, I just stroked the side of his face and smiled in encouragement.

"So I would have fantasies of spending Christmas with my parents. We'd have everything you see on the telly; a tree so high you can't see the top, but my dad would still be able to hoist me on his shoulders so I could place the star up there. And my mum! My mum and I would decorate the tree and the house – lights and ornaments everywhere! There'd be a warm fire to cuddle up next to and we'd leave out cookies for Santa… Like on the telly, you know?"

"That's beautiful, Harry," I said softly as I held _him_ tighter. "So lovely," I murmured into his hair.

He pulled back, but only slightly. "So… do you want to do it?"

"I'd very much like to share that with you."

His smile warmed me more than any Christmas card, tree, or dinner ever could.

oO0OoO0OoO0OoO0OoO0Oo

**A/N:** Aww, it was turning kinda angsty at the end there and by the end, I mean the entire last half of the chapter… Harry's childhood is hella depressing. Should I avoid or delve deeper down into his psyche as a victim of abuse? This _is_ still a fluffy Christmas story, after all. But then again, he does have Draco to soothe his wounds… _**-DMH**_


	5. The Fifth

**Author's Note:** Take a look up at that rating up there… Yeah, that's a **M**. _**–DMH**_

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**Twelve Days and Forever After**

**The Fifth **

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This was the moment that I learned that Harry was tacky:

After calling a friend to pick up and deliver a tree for him, Harry hailed a cab to the nearest convenience store where he delightedly dragged me up and down each aisle. I say drag because I was being held in this store against my will. I'm sure the owner was from some eastern country, whether far east or middle, I have no idea – I was afraid of looking him directly in the face. One quick glance was acceptable. He was nice enough, he even smiled a three-toothed grin at us as we walked in, but sadly his surroundings did not reflect his innate hospitality. With a backdrop of the lighting dark, the floors covered in dirt, the shelves shrouded in dust – dust that Harry nonchalantly blew off of a box of Christmas lights – the store gave off the impression that the place was due for its weekly annual robbery. And damned if I got caught in such a thing with this prat.

After getting over my initial horror and swallowing the urge to ask, "How do you live like this?" I took the box of lights he presented to me and placed it back upon the shelf. "Harry, no colored bulbs."

He looked at me as if I had just set a nativity scene on fire. "No colored lights?"

"Of course not. They're absolutely garish. We'll go to another –" _better_ "–store for some elegant white lights. Subtle, soft and classic."

"And boring!"

"Boring?" I asked, placing a hand against my chest as I schooled the crease of disapproval from my brow.

Harry nodded. "White lights are pretty, but after awhile they get boring. Colored lights are fun."

I bit my lip and placed my hands on either of my lover's shoulders. "Harry, darling, let's not argue about this."

"Good." He reached for the dusty box once more, but I stopped him with a soft squeeze of his shoulders. I gave a pleased smile when his eyes flashed with realization, but quickly frowned when they snapped with agitation. "Oh, you don't want to argue, you just want me to do as you say?"

"Harry–"

"No, no, don't worry about an argument, _darling_. I'll just ignore your objections from now on."

I did not bother hiding my grief stricken expression from him this time, but it didn't matter anyway since he had taken several dusty boxes of gaudy lights in his arms and was walking away from me. I was concerned, not only because of this new, defiant side of Harry, but also because my tactic to stop the argument had failed so miserably. Now that I think of it, saying I didn't want to argue could not possibly prove to be much of a tactic. Funny, it had always worked whenever my mother used it with my father or me.

I doubt my mother would ever be frantically scurrying behind Father, but I was doing it, so I suppose my pretending to be as demure and sophisticated as she with Harry was a failure.

I had just latched onto his elbow when he reached the counter, but he only glanced my way dismissively before digging into the back of his jeans pocket for his wallet. My mood only further deflated and I let go of his arm and would have taken a step back had he not wrapped said arm around my waist. I looked up at him in surprise, but he was completely ignoring me, opting to start a conversation on Christmas plans with the storeowner.

"Big tree?" asked the owner, his smile wide and gummy. Harry nodded and tossed out a few bills to pay for the lights, which I was still positive would set our big tree on fire. I held my tongue and, as if he knew, Harry held me tighter.

When we reached the curb, he huddled close to me and kissed my ear. "So what the hell was that about?" he laughed and suddenly our strange tension had loosened. I smiled up at him and kissed his jaw.

"I have no idea. Let's not do it again."

"Oh, it'll happen again, but let's not let it get any worse than that."

I smiled and he smiled with the healthy knowledge that we both knew that it could get worse than it was. Not quite categorizing the incident as a fight, I shelved it in the back of my mind to peruse and think about later. For now, I decided, I would devote myself to learning more about Harry, who was a worldly man, a patient man, a proud man who was once a playboy and, potentially, was once a recipient of my childhood harrying.

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The night before our moment in the convenience store, as I curled up on my couch to watch whatever version of "The Christmas Carol" with a cup of cocoa, most of my thoughts were on my own Christmas past. I really was a spoiled little shit when I was a child.

The boarding school Pansy and I attended was rather generous to its scholarship students – one fact of many that always had my father ranting about wanting to have me transferred. It provided a holiday alternative for those who could not afford a trip back home from the Ireland countryside for Christmas. Since I was eleven, I would crow up and down the hallways about how lavish my Christmas would be; several Christmas trees with a floor full of gifts under each, stockings overstuffed with sweets and a rather hefty annual addition to my personal bank account. With Pansy and Blaise in tow, I channeled a pompous Pied Piper, leading several of the _elite_ friends my father had me make in primary school into goading the less fortunate students. I was never shy with more than half a dozen behind me in full support of the smirks and sneers and jeers sent to the scholarship students. We were all going _home_ with our families for Christmas, after all, and everyone knew that Christmas dinner for those staying behind was provided by the charity of _our parents_. My father often donated money when people were looking, but that never meant that he liked it. Pansy's parents were the same and so were the parents of many, many others. So when Theodore Nott took to calling the events paid for by our parents donations terms like "soup kitchen" and "welfare" in our third year, we all followed suit. It was almost a tradition to weed out the students who were staying behind for the holidays for, by this time, it was a known taboo to never let anyone know you didn't have enough money to go home.

Well into my final year, we kept the tradition alive, cackling at new additions to our list of "welfare recipients" as well as looking down our noses on those who had been staples on the list since its conception such as the entirety of the Weasley tribe, a large and loud family of unfortunately freckled redheads, a girl who had parents who were dentists, of all things, and several others, but most importantly, Scarhead.

I don't remember having many encounters with the boy myself, but I do remember having an intense dislike for him. He was always crouching, his uniform always wrinkled and yet five times neater than his atrocious black hair which he let shag all over his face and neck. He wore thick glasses that covered half of his face and probably didn't help him see at all since most of our clashes were literal collisions in the hallways between classes. And even though our crashing into one another was almost always his fault, he never apologized when I snapped for him to, he talked back! I hated him!

We shared no classes, we shared no friends, we barely shared the same room at times. The majority of harsh words directed to him from my tongue were only heard during shared lunch period and even then, he sat on the complete opposite side of the hall from where I lorded over my friends. Someone would mention him and having heard the rumors, I would mock him to the best of my ability – and my ability was impressive. After all, the rumors had given me much ammo. His state appearance was exemplary in its… horridness. He only had two friends who were, possibly, bigger losers than he was. He failed in classes I excelled in. He lived with a family that wanted him even less than his fellow classmates…

Scarhead couldn't possibly be Harry…

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"Where did you go?"

I jolted and gathered my scattered attention enough to look up at his smile. "Nowhere."

"Lies," he whispered against my lips and I sighed with contentment. Biting my lips against curving into a wide, foolish grin I turned away from Harry and faced the shelf of ornaments. As I was travelling through previously visited thoughts, this sweet man had steered me onto East 117th and we were in Target, a store I was mostly sure would not sell us combustible decorations. Nevertheless, I was still feeling a certain way about the various bright colors and how they would clash.

"What do you think – the purple ones?" I shook my head and marched further up the aisle. "Come on, Draco…"

"You don't like shopping, do you?"

"You're the only man I know who does, apparently."

I wrinkled my nose at him as I picked up a box of gold, glittery things. "Not even any gay men?"

"Not even."

I shook my head and wondered aloud if he was lying, but he only laughed and stuck a new box under my nose. I took it from him and gazed at it, allowing the smile I earlier hid to blossom fully. White ornaments. He gave me a box of pure white, shining ornaments – so our Christmas tree wouldn't clash. And then, before I could recover from the maple-flavored sappiness collecting in my stomach, he held out another box of white snowflake ornaments.

"…tree too big? Maybe we should get one more box, you know. Just in case... Draco?"

"Yes," I replied, staring at my box of perfect ornaments. I knew I must have looked mad to him, just gaping at this box we had yet to purchase, but I couldn't stop. All types of thoughts were rushing through my head. The argument we had had earlier had melted into warm, squishy feelings because he had listened to me – even when I was being a prick – and he cared about my opinion and no one…

"Should we get another box just in case the tree is too big?" he asked again and I nodded at him then quickly set the box in my hand in the cart just so I wouldn't tug him down by his scarf and rape him right there in the store.

It is a powerful thing to realize that you've never felt like anyone's cared about you while at the same time discovering that someone actually does. It sends that hole in the pit of you clinching and twisting and fills it at the same time; warm and uncomfortable, entirely too much so that it overflows. So there I was, in Target, overflowing and trying not to let Harry see me catch the puddles of myself. I know it's foolish to think that my opinion has never counted; I'm the editor of a fashion magazine, my opinion is law. However, when it comes to relationships, I'm obviously the least likely to speak up. All I ever tried to with Dudley was the right thing and usually that meant becoming a yes-man and not taking it personally when my spoken thoughts were waved aside. With Harry, that wasn't going to be the case. And I know it's foolish to put so much importance on this one random act of consideration and it wasn't the first time someone had thought of me, I know, and it wasn't even as if Harry had gone out of his way to do it, but… I was overflowing nonetheless.

"Draco?" Harry asked when I finally just wrapped my arms around him with a squeak.

"Yes," came my muffled reply from the folds of his coat.

"Um… Never mind." He just wrapped his arms around me, too. "Now, what about a tree topper?"

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"Wow, this tree is bloody big."

"Agreed." I watched with wide eyes as Harry moved even closer to the mammoth evergreen and was dwarfed, easily, by it by at least four feet. "How tall is it?"

"Eleven feet? Ten? But it's beautiful."

And it was such a beautiful sight to see upon stepping back into Harry's apartment, our arms draped with bags of decorations (including the poinsettia plant we swung back to my apartment to get), our cheeks reddened by the cold, but aching from our wide smiles. Harry's friend had left a note with the doorman, so we were not surprised to see the tree in the middle of the living room, but we still managed to gape and ogle at it as if it had grown there itself from the polished wood floors.

"We'll have to move the furniture around," Harry mumbled absently as he walked around it, completely disappearing behind its girth. "I have a fur rug we can move in here, too."

"A fur rug? How decadent."

He leaned around the tree to flash me a crooked grin. "Oh it is. And it's white… You'll look gorgeous laid across it with nothing on you but the flickering lights of the tree."

I blushed violently. "Now what am I supposed to say when you say things like that?"

"You say, 'Yes, Harry. Should I take my clothes off now or do you want to do the honors?'"

"Oh shut up," I laughed, plopping down on his couch. I watched him fuss with the tree, pushing the surely heavy thing in the corner a large chair had previously occupied after halfheartedly glaring at me for not lifting a hand to help him, but my eyes eventually drifted to the dark wood floors and my thoughts drifted to the white rug…

"It's rolled up, in the guestroom closet," he chuckled and I jumped, then scowled when I realized that he had been watching the path of my gaze.

"Shut up," I said, but stood anyway and followed the direction he pointed me towards. When I returned minutes later, the coffee table was moved behind the couch with Pansy's poinsettia set on top and the large chair was placed by the fireplace on the side opposite the giant tree. I dropped the heavy rug on the ground with a grateful thump and dropped down next to it to give it a push. It unrolled beautifully, stopping just at Harry's feet. "Oh, it's gorgeous. I can see why you had it put away. I would hate for anything to stain it."

"Yeah," Harry said and, before I could blink, he was on his knees, crawling across the rug and kissing my chin, my lips, my cheeks… "I was telling the truth… about you naked on this thing."

I shuddered and whimpered, "I know."

He smiled into his next batch of kisses, but pulled away as soon as they became serious. "That'll have to wait until tomorrow."

As I felt him stand, I twisted my fingers into the dense fur and whined without opening my eyes. "Why?"

"We have to wait for the tree to settle before we can decorate it," he explained easily and I opened my eyes just so I could glare at him. He smiled smugly. "Then I can see how those pretty lights bounce off your bare skin."

"The tree has to settle?" I asked, reaching out.

He helped me up to my feet with a nod. "Yeah, see how the branches are sitting? We have to wait until the tree grows accustomed to the temperature of the flat and the branches fall so we don't wrap it too tight with the lights and none of the ornaments fall."

I eyed the tree skeptically, but shrugged. "Fine."

He laughed and wrapped an arm around my waist. "How about some takeout for dinner?"

"Sounds good."

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Harry's tongue is always sweet when I suck on it.

And that makes sense because he's always sneaking sweets when he thinks no one is watching. I'm positive he keeps peppermints in his wallet and there's a bowl of jellybeans on the coffee table. Even when he would sneak into my magazine's offices, he'd flirt with my staff for hard candies. And there was the time he fellated a licorice stick at Dudley's birthday dinner…

At that moment, however, that sweet tongue was sugaring my collarbones and sucking spots as red as candied apples onto my neck. Occasionally, I got a taste, but it was quick, fleeting; merely a few quick swipes across my lips or a shallow dip between them. Either way, my tongue was eager to meet each challenge.

It was a little after midnight and he and I were curled beneath his black comforter in his big bed surround by a darkness his open curtains invited city lights into. We were clothed – a pair of grey boxer briefs and lime green briefs between us – his arm was casually thrown across my waist, my legs were crossed and lying atop his knees. He explored me with kisses as he laid on his left side, the fingers of his left hand tracing one of my eyebrows in the most tantalizingly dizzying way.

I decided before even lying down with him that we would not make love that night – I intended to save that for the next with a tall glass of champagne in my hand and fur against my bare skin. Harry, however, was not aware of my decision so, when he pulled my behind into the cradle of his lap and rocked himself against me, I was none too surprised. His kisses searched for more, explored deeper the more excited he got and he was hard, so hard. I tried to pull away, but his mouth only followed me, finding a spot to suck on my upper lip that set off a keening moan, deep within me, which only excited him more. I made several such attempts to get away, but he managed to catch me each time and wasn't that fun? At one point, his thumb found my nipple and we were both too preoccupied with that to move any further. Finally, despite the brief distractions, I managed to both push him down flat on his back and avoid straddling his lap regardless of his enthusiastic attempts to get me there.

I laid on my stomach beside him, smiling into his curious gaze, and I ran a hand down his body, hidden from moonbeams and city lights by the thick comforter. I folded the blanket back a bit so I could see the beginnings of a path of hair that grew under his navel. His body was beautiful; tanned, I'm sure, from Los Angeles summers and Roman winters, but it lay there, next to me in New York. I smiled at the thought and leaned in to kiss him softly.

"Why do I feel like that was a reward?" he asked and I only shrugged, knowing that I wasn't ready to admit the answer aloud – that Harry, who could have spent his Christmas anywhere else in the world doing anything else with anyone else, was here with me. I smiled again, maybe even laughed a bit, and I kissed his collarbone, then his pectoral, then his nipple, then his side, his ribs. He had to lift his arm over his head to allow me better access to him and neither of us regretted this action. In fact, the quickening of his breath and a sharp curse let me know that he definitely had no objections.

I kept one hand beneath the comforter on his thigh, raking my fingernails through the hair they found there, but my other hand was used to trace its fingers along the paths and ridges of muscled abdomen my tongue intended to follow. I was sucking the edges of his bellybutton when he let out a whine and raised his knee, sending the hand on his thigh closer to his crotch. I loved the reaction of his body when I cupped him in my hand. He was so warm – hot – and the lower half of his perfect body was lifting off the bed, pushing hard against my palm.

"Fuck!"

I traced his shape through his underwear, so fascinated with his length and the wetness growing under my swirling thumb.

"_Dracoooooo_…"

I stopped caressing him then, only held him in my hand until I kissed my way back up his long body and straight to his lips. I squeezed him then so I could taste his moans directly. When he turned his head so I could sample the sweat on his neck, my fingers slipped under his waistband and set his erection free. His low hiss of appreciation only encouraged me to be naughtier. I made a show of pulling my hand away, then licking my palm until it was wet enough and Harry's eyes were wide enough to satisfy me. His eyes were closed tightly when my hand went to work on him, pulling up the length of him and twisting back down, pumping him at a steady rate that ignored the frantic jabbing of his hips.

"Do you want my mouth?" I whispered against his Adam's apple and he groaned.

"No, just… Shit." He sat up abruptly, interrupting the pace I set for a moment, but not halting it, and he leaned over me towards the nightstand. Golden light fell over us, revealing how red the spots I sucked all over his torso were. He lay back down and threaded his fingers into my hair to pull my mouth back to his. I started to pump him faster as he deepened the kiss, but he pulled back panting, "Just… watch… Look at me. Please."

I nodded and propped myself up on my elbow, stroking him faster as I stared down into his eyes. He was soon clinching his jaw and digging the fingers not in my hair into the sheets. I licked the sweat at his temple and he let out a guttural moan before turning his head and biting my chin.

"Yes," he said. "Yes. Yes. Yes."

I was panting now, too, as he yanked my head back by my hair, catching my gaze and keeping it despite the growing lack of focus in his own. His eyes were so dark and green and hungry… His hand tightened, tugging more pain into my scalp, but I only smiled viciously at the way he cried out, at the twitching of his stomach and the way his lips trembled – an action that told me not to stop, that right now would be the worst time to stop, to make him come and make him come hard, to stroke it out of him… I was the one to moan when he spilled across my fingers.

"So much," I whispered into his lazy kisses and he hummed his agreement even as I squeezed the last drops from him. He pulled away from the kiss and dropped his head back with a huff of air.

"God, that was _brilliant_." He shook his head as if he could not believe it.

When he closed his eyes, I hopped out of the bed and rushed to the bathroom, hastily making my way back to the bed with a wet cloth to clean up our fun mess. He smiled at me, his grin goofy and contagious. I kissed the edges of it and wiped up the chaos I caused before trying to stand up again. Instead, he held out his hand to me, took the cloth and flung it in the direction of the bathroom. The look he gave me let me know that I would be in trouble if I attempted to leave the bed again.

After I was pulled back to his side and kissed soundly, he asked, "Do you need me to…?" and I shook my head and leaned up to turn off the lamp once more. I watched him whilst my eyes adjusted to the darkness; he was still breathing heavily, his fingers were pushing through his hair, lifting it off his forehead save for a few strands stuck there with perspiration. He pressed his ear against my chest and murmured, "That was hot."

I snorted and nodded even though he wasn't watching me. His arms wrapped around my waist and I could see that he was going to fall asleep like that, so I only snuggled into the embrace and occupied my hands with the tasks of tracing circles into his shoulders and stroking his wild, black hair away from his forehead. I pressed a kiss to the zigzag of a scar I found there and I feel asleep thinking of Christmas dinners.

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**A/N:** Give me reviews and I _might_ give you more smut next chapter… (Lol at "might"!) _**–DMH**_


	6. The Sixth

**Author's Note:** I'm finally on Spring Break! _**–DMH**_

P.S. Thank you for all the reviews for the last chapter!

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**Twelve Days and Forever After**

**The Sixth**

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"Pansy, you bitch."

"What?" she huffed indignantly into my ear. She was quiet on her end for a little too long, so I knew she must have been staring at her phone, the caller's ID to be more specific, so she could see if someone was playing a trick on her. "Draco?" she snapped after a few seconds. "What's wrong with you? I finished the spread for you and turned it in yesterday, if that's what you're worried about?"

I set down the pan I was fiddling with and stalked to the refrigerator to check if Harry had any eggs. "Of course I'm not worried about… I… Wait, what?"

"This isn't about the spread?" Pansy sounded as confused as I was.

"The spread?"

Another indignant huff that somewhat morphed into a growl sounded across the line. "Are you serious? It's Thursday, Draco."

"It is not," I insisted, searching around for my phone as if it would suddenly appear in the kitchen.

"But it is, Draco, and you forgot all about the spread didn't you?"

"I did not!"

"And all because of your man-friend!"

"Shut up, you bloody bint! I didn't and it can't possibly be Thursday – and where is my bloody phone?"

She allowed me a few moments more of scrambling around foolishly before she informed me that, "The phone is in your hand. You're talking on it right now, darling."

"Shut up… I was looking for the house phone." While she laughed, I pulled the cell away from my ear and looked at the date. It _was_ Thursday and I _had_ forgotten all about the spread.

"Don't be upset. I handled it. The Christmas issue will be out on Friday. Now don't ever call me telling me I'm a bitch ever again."

"Well, I know that's common knowledge to you already, but I still feel you need an occasional reaffirmation." After a moment of silence I'm sure was filled with rolling eyes, I continued, "And thank you for reminding me why I called you, you cow."

"What? What did I do now?"

"Well, first, do you know how to make eggs Benedict?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't ask me about cooking… Why are you calling me names?"

I yanked the bag of English muffins out of the fridge and set them next to the eggs and ham on the counter. I frowned at the kitchen island of lost breakfast ingredients of which I had no idea what to do next with. "Why didn't you tell me we went to school with Harry bleeding Potter?"

"But I did! What are you talking about?"

"You told me a few days ago – why didn't you tell me a few years ago so I wouldn't make a fool of myself with this man?"

I listened to her sputter for a moment while trying to remember what the hell kind of sauce goes on eggs Benedict. I suppose it didn't matter, though; all Harry had was Ranch dressing, so I set that on the counter with a grimace. Finally, Pansy managed to speak.

"I think this is extremely unfair of you, Draco."

"Unfair of me?"

"Yes! You call me with all these accusations as if I've been keeping this secret from you all these years – Well, I wasn't! I didn't say anything about Potter because I recognized him the first time I saw him and I thought you recognized him, too! How was I supposed to know you'd blocked out the faces of schoolmates in your mind?"

"You let me –"

"I didn't let you do anything, Draco! If you embarrassed yourself, that's your problem! What? Did you have a flashback and call him 'Scarhead' or something?"

"No…"

"Then what, Draco?"

"I… I just saw his scar last night – I mean, I've seen it before without really noticing, but he kept pushing his hair off his face and I saw the shape of it and…"

"And what, Draco? Did the world end?" she asked softly, her voice coaxing and lacking the anger it had been filled with not even twenty seconds ago. "Did he dump you? Did you ask him where his welfare check was? What?"

I shrugged, forgetting we were on the phone until she called my name out again and jolted me back into the conversation. "No, none of those things."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't know. I just don't – He knows who I am, right?"

"I should hope so. He recognized me right away."

"Well, if he knows who I am, why hasn't he said anything about it? All these years?"

"Who the hell knows? What's that scrapping noise?"

"I burned eggs," said I while steadily pushing the spatula across the pan to get every last ash into the garbage can. I turned the stove off afterwards and sat on a stool at the kitchen island. "Why does he want me?"

"Oh God, Draco. I don't know. You need to ask him."

"I don't want to."

"Then I guess we'll both just be clueless bitches, huh?"

"No, Pansy! I need to know why he wants me! I was evil when we were children! I'm the sloppy seconds of his cousin!"

"Oh God, I should have known this was going to get back to the Dud somehow. Allow me a moment to get up and waddle to my favorite armchair so I can sit down through this absolute load comfortably."

"Pansy, stop it." I set my head down on the counter, using the pressure of cool marble against my forehead as a calming tool.

"Tell me, Draco," she said when I assumed she found her chair, "What exactly is your problem? His motives? Is that it or is it something else?"

"Why does he want me? I'm horrible!"

"Well, you are, but why did you think he wanted you before you had the revelation everyone else knew about?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but only snapped it back shut when I knew I had nothing.

I had woken up not even an hour before, wrapped in Harry like a blanket, my stupid body boneless and content, my smile tension-free and then, I had to think like an idiot. It was raining and I watched the drops of water streak down the windows happily and I was happy, too – especially happy not to have to go out today. As I idly wondered if the rain would or could even freeze in those long, beautiful streams down the windows, a fleeting whisper granted me a thought.

I wondered if Dudley was watching this wrapped in his lover.

So stupid, I know…

"Is it seriously my fault that you're being so thick, Draco?" With that remark, I snapped out of my brooding and had opened my mouth to respond, but a slight movement in my peripheral stalled me. "Draco, are you there?"

"I have to go, Pansy. Thank you for the spread. I'll call you later." Despite the Great White's protesting curses, I hung up just as Harry walked through the kitchen doorway. "Good morning."

His smile was beauteous and warmed me. "Good morning." He glanced around and his smile only widened. "Eggs Benedict?... With ranch dressing?"

I played with the idea of teasing him because of the nervous look on his face he was trying to hide, but decided to reveal that I had forgotten what type of sauce to use. "And I don't even think I could make it if I did know. I'm a horrible cook."

He rounded the kitchen counter and pulled me into a hug. "That's quite alright, man. I don't need you to cook. Don't you know I'm only with you for your looks?" he joked against my neck, but I froze nonetheless. He felt me go rigid in his arms and pulled back to watch my crumpled face. I was sure every doubt and insecure thought was obvious in my eyes, so I avoided his, even as he cupped his hands around my face. "No, no. Luv, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it." I nodded and returned his kisses, even wrapping my arms around his waist, but I could feel the tears in the back of my throat. "You're beautiful," he told me, "but that's not why I want you."

"Then why?" I burst out, hating myself for both the tremble in my voice and my lips. "Why do you want me? I'm horrid."

At this point, I was in tears and he was panicking. "You're _wonderful_. Smart and considerate – Fair!"

"And kind, I suppose!" I snapped, yanking myself away from him. I watched him through a blurry, wet sheen, reaching out to me, but I stepped back from him. "Tell me, Potter! When have I ever been kind to you? All those times you'd come barging into my office, flirting ridiculously and asking me out, only for me to call security? All those dinners at the Dursleys – ignoring your presence? At school? At school when I…" My head hung in shame and allowed him to wrap his arms around me once more. "Why do you want me? Dudley didn't."

"Dudders is a fool," Harry said simply. I felt his fingers on my face, clumsily attempting to wipe the tears away. So, in fear that he would gouge my eyes out, I buried my face into his soft grey t-shirt and wiped my tears there instead. "Well, that's rude," he chuckled. "Rude in a cute way, though… I suppose I like that about you."

I lifted my head to stare up at him pathetically. "You like that I'm rude in a cute way?"

He kissed the tip of my reddened nose. "The cutest."

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After the tears had dried and two more attempts were made at making breakfast that only resulted in the pointless sacrifice of all of Harry's eggs, he finally dragged me out of the kitchen so he could make us porridge and toast. He assured me that this action was the surest way he knew to avoid my involuntary inclination towards burning food and I couldn't help but agree with him.

I sat at the dining room table to wait and tried my hardest not to think of what a fool I made of myself in the kitchen.

I failed.

What he must have thought of me… In all of my years knowing him, I had never been one to wear my heart on my sleeve. I never shared any vulnerable moments with him; at least, I was good at hiding my vulnerabilities. I've hidden them from my father. I hid them from my friends and employees. And then I hid them from Dudley. But in the kitchen, with Harry, I was so quick to reveal myself. My tears had come easily and I felt as if I was melting in that moment and, in a sense, I suppose I was. Rigidity and coldness were two traits I admired in myself and I abandoned both for strong arms and sweet words.

And then porridge, I mused with a smile as Harry walked into the room with a large tray.

"For you," he said, setting a bowl in front of me.

"Thank you." Our meal was pleasant, even though we remained silent for most of it. It was a nice change of pace from what I was used to concerning silent meals. When Harry stood to take my empty bowl afterwards, I stopped him with a hand on his wrist. "Sit. Talk with me."

"Of course." He nodded and moved his chair to the corner of the table closest to me. I took one of his hands in both of mine and played with it in my lap, shyly tracing his fingernails and rubbing circles into his knuckles. "Draco?"

"I'm sorry I cried."

"That's the strangest thing to apologize about, I think."

I shrugged. "I suppose so, but you seemed stricken when I cried. So, I'm sorry for worrying you."

"Look at me, Draco." I reluctantly lifted my eyes to his. "It's a privilege for me to be the one who comforts you. You never have to apologize for that." I flushed and nodded. He visibly relaxed, tension sliding out of his shoulders, which surprised me because I hadn't noticed. "Good. Now, do you want to talk about why you cried? Because you don't think I should want you?"

"I don't understand it," I admitted.

"You're a successful businessman. You have a wit quicker than your temper – both of which are very attractive to me. You –"

"You're attracted to my temper?" He nodded enthusiastically and I could see genuine excitement in his eyes when he next spoke.

"Everything lights up in you – like lightning. That's apt. Your anger is quick and striking and beautiful, even when it's directed towards me. All those times I spent tormenting you in your office… your eyes would darken into the color of storm clouds and I was torn between asking you to let me take your picture or to let me make love to you. Usually, I would be inclined towards the latter – I'd very much like to make love to a force of nature – but by the time I would make my decisions, security would be escorting me out."

"You could be a poet, Potter." He shook his head and lifted our joined hands to his lips. "Why else do you want me?"

He chuckled. "You are very forward."

"Pushy."

"_Forward_. One rarely has to ask you what you want or need because you usually take the initiative to let them know. You don't waste time and I lo… _like_ that about you," he told me and I frowned. "What?"

"I _usually_ take the initiative to let people know what I want and need? Why 'usually'?"

He stared at me then in a way that somewhat shocked me, perhaps because I thought his glasses should filter such a penetrating gaze, but they served as no such barrier between us. "I've known you for a long time, Draco. Correct?"

"Yes."

"You're aware of this, the longevity of our… acquaintance and you don't think I know things?"

Unease colored my response. "Know things? What things?"

"About your relationship with my cousin."

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh." I jolted when Harry suddenly pulled himself away from me and stood so that he could pace. I watched him uncomfortably as I tried to school my face into an expression of anything but distress. "For years, Draco, I'd seen you with my cousin, changing yourself into what he wanted you to be, biting your lip, silencing your anger… and that's frustrated me because you never seemed to realize that you did it."

"I did realize –"

"Then why did you keep doing it?" he snapped, his pacing stopping as he whipped back around to face me. "You bottled up everything beautiful about yourself. Why?"

My lip began to tremble again, so I hid it behind my hand and replied, "I wanted Dudley to love me, but it didn't work."

"Of course it didn't," Harry said softly and I nodded, even though my mind registered that it was a harsh thing to hear. "Dudley is narcissistic and you weren't being yourself. Of course you two would never work." I stared down at the hands in my lap until Harry reclaimed his seat and patted me on the knee. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, but Dudley makes me so angry. I've never understood why you… why you tolerated him."

I closed my eyes and made a noncommittal sound, hoping that Harry would just drop the subject. With a sigh, he did and then grabbed the remains of our breakfast as an excuse to leave the room.

oO0OoO0OoO0OoO0OoO0Oo

I managed to avoid Harry for the entire afternoon, which was a surprisingly easy task because he decided he was going to avoid me as well. He had holed himself up in his office while I spent the day either on the phone with Pansy, dodging all subjects other than work or reading a sad novel on the couch so I had something else to frown about other than my own situation. When I finally braved interaction with him, I found that Harry had moved from his office to his bedroom.

He was lying in the middle of his bed on his stomach, watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and he smiled at me as I entered the room, but said nothing. I climbed into bed with him and stretched myself over him until my body was blanketing his wide back. I nuzzled the space between his shoulder blades and as the tension in his body dissipated, I let go of my own and closed my eyes. I was content to just listen to the movie and even more content to feel Harry, warm and breathing beneath my cheek.

When the program ended, without moving and with his voice muffled by a pillow, he asked me if I was still mad at him.

"I was never mad at you. I was just sad."

"About what I said?"

I took a moment to think about what he said; it was nothing that I hadn't already said to myself a long time ago. "No. Thinking of my failed relationship always depresses me."

"I'm sorry," Harry said and I kissed and rubbed my nose against his nape. "Can I do anything to cheer you up?"

"Can we decorate the tree?" I asked, my voice purposely small and Harry just chuckled and turned onto his back so he could wrap his arms around me.

"Of course, luv."

oO0OoO0OoO0OoO0OoO0Oo

**A/N:** This chapter makes me want to kick puppies. I hate filler chapters and this is the Grand Duchess of friggin' fillers. I'm almost embarrassed to present it to my readers, especially since I liked the last chapter so much. I felt I needed to write it because if I had addressed these issues in later chapters, the rest of the story would be angsty and blah instead of fluffy and sweet as I intended. So if I had written the scene I originally wanted to for this chapter, with the inclusion of the last chapter, the story would have gone: 1) high note, high note, low note, 2) …, 3) No profit. Since this chapter is a big low note in my opinion, the next chapter will get back to the sweet and fluffy nature of this story; decorating, lovemaking and burning Christmas cookies. I promise! I'll try to have it up by this weekend. _**–DMH**_


	7. The Seventh

**Author's Note:** No worries. I didn't kick any puppies. I hope you guys like this chapter! _**–DMH**_

oO0OoO0OoO0OoO0OoO0Oo

**Twelve Days and Forever After**

**The Seventh**

oO0OoO0OoO0OoO0OoO0Oo

"I feel like we should have more decorations," Harry groused as he stared down at the ridiculous number of boxes spread out on the fur at his feet.

I was sitting on the couch again, watching him do all the work while eating an apple and offering him commentary and rude suggestions. He had stopped listening to me long before when I snarked about the lights on the tree not being equally spaced and made him re-hang them three times, but I said anyway, "Maybe strings of popcorn?"

His head lifted at my idea and nodded as he considered it. "I think I have the microwave kind… Is it okay if it's buttered?"

I threw an aptly named throw pillow in his direction with a laugh. He ducked too soon and it caught him on the forehead. "Fine! Maybe we do have enough decorations. So will you get you lazy butt up and help me put up these ornaments?"

I made a grand show of pushing myself off the couch, complete with silly faces and exaggerated huffs of air then dragged myself in his direction. "What do I have to do?"

"Well, you can start by turning that frown upside down." I narrowed my eyes at him and he shrugged, reached down and handed me a box of white ornaments. "Pick a side of tree and go wild."

I set to work hanging the white orbs, but momentarily halted when I saw him walking away. "Where are you going?"

"Music!" he called, disappearing into the hallway that led to his bedroom. This time my huff of annoyance was not exaggerated, but I continued hanging ornaments without a word anyway. Despite still being leery of the tree catching on fire, I had to admit that it looked beautiful with Harry's lights, even without the ornaments. Still, I continued to hang them without Harry and I even had to open the other boxes because he was taking so long to return. Once each box was emptied, I was tempted to turn the lights out just to get a peek at what it would look like in all of its glory, but the music suddenly ringing through the room stopped me.

"What's this?" I asked as Harry strolled back into the room.

"I just remembered that Pansy gave me a compilation cd for Christmas, so I went to fiddle with my stereo system I had installed all throughout my apartment so that I could impress you."

I smiled as Elvis dreamed of a white Christmas and revealed, "I'm very impressed."

He smiled proudly and pressed a kiss to my cheek. Then he walked to the tree to inspect the work I did. His face was playfully critical as he paced back and forth, tapping his finger on his chin with a heavy frown that made me laugh. As fun as this all was, I was still eager to hear what he thought of my decorating skills. "How is it?"

I was highly disappointed because he only nodded and then rushed out of the room. I was apparently frozen in astonishment because I was surprised at myself for not following with a string of curses as I would have normally done. Luckily for him, by the time I had gathered myself enough to start heading towards where he disappeared off to, he returned with his camera slung around his neck. Without saying a word or even looking at me, he lifted the camera and snapped several pictures, circling around the tree as a lion would a zebra, bending and twisting for perfect angles. He had to have taken fifty pictures before he stopped, turning to me with a wide smile that caused my own to erupt.

"It's gorgeous, Draco!" He pulled me into his arms and swung us in a circle. His expression was full of delight, youth and wonder and I was so happy, felt so fortunate to be able to give this to him. The kisses he gave me were full of laughter and I sipped joy from them every time our lips met. "Thank you," he said slowly, cupping my face in his hands. "So much… So much, luv."

My chest tightened as a sign of my body's realization of what was going to happen. Our kisses slowed in number, but began to lengthen… and deepen. I made it a goal to suck moans from his tongue and my heart sung every time I made an achievement. He pulled away from me once, only to toss his camera on the couch, then pulled me even closer. He wound his arms around me, his fingers into my hair, as he pulled us to the floor, onto the rug.

I was straddling his lap and sinking deeper into his kisses when he tugged my shirt up and off. I lifted my arms to help and immediately fell back to his mouth, wanting his taste more than anything in that moment. He rolled us over and I moaned as my bare skin came in contact with soft, white fur. Against my consent, he pulled back to stare down at me, his chest lifting heavily with each labored breath. A hand stroked down my chest and I closed my eyes at the pleasure.

"So gorgeous," he whispered, bending forward to press kisses along the trail his hand had established. My stomach trembled when he got to it, his lips barely ghosting across it as his attempts to tease me succeeded. He pulled back once more and this time I let loose a sound of displeasure as a whimper. "Wait, luv. Wait. Be right back."

I dropped my hands from his shoulders with a groan and allowed him to stand. I closed my eyes, hummed nonsensically with whatever song playing and waited for him to return. When I felt Harry's body covering mine once more, I opened my eyes and gasped at the sight of the tree. He had turned all the lights but the ones on the tree off.

They were amazing.

Blue and green and red and yellow and purple, flashing and twinkling between the tree's branches, like fairies hiding secrets. Looking up at Harry, I could tell that he was just as mesmerized as I was. And he was beautiful with his face turned up to the lights, them flitting across his face, catching each perfect angle of it. I reached up and pulled him back down to me gently. Our kiss began just as gently and then it deepened and then it consumed.

"I want you," he told me.

I nodded and gave myself.

He kissed down my body, this time in an attempt to catch the colors between my pale skin and his lips. The time he spent on my nipple convinced me that he had caught purple, so I was surprised when he moved lower, his tongue joining the cause as it circled around my navel.

"I've never seen…" he mumbled into his kisses as he unbuttoned my jeans. "So beautiful…"

After he had me naked, he sat back on his heels, unmoving, only watching. I felt as if my heart was going to leap out of my chest with every brush of his gaze against me.

"Touch me, Harry." He only shook his head and I felt even more vulnerable than I had in his kitchen that morning. But this was good, so good. I was naked, only covered in lights and Harry was looking at me, seeing me, every bit of me. I was twisting, running my own hands down my body, bending my knees in any and all attempts to goad him into action.

He only asked me, "Can I take your picture?"

I nodded and he shot up, rushing into the darkness towards the couch where his discarded Nikon lay. Then he was over me once more, between my bended knees, telling me to look at him. He rolled his hips into mine, my erection both grateful at the feel of denim, the texture of it and hateful at the barrier. The camera hovered over me, hiding his face from me, but he didn't take any pictures. Only when his hips rolled in such a way that sent me into fits of moans did I hear the clicks.

"Are they… How are the pictures going to turn out in the dark like this?" I panted, looping fingers into the hem of jeans.

"I can develop them," he assured me gruffly. A few more hip rolls, a few more clicks and then he growled in dissatisfaction and set the camera aside. I barely had enough time to call out his name in question before he was yanking his shirt off and bending to me, kissing my questions away. "Do you want me?"

I wanted him inside of me and that part of me twitched at his question and the voice he asked it in. It was deep and gravelly, filled with his own desires that fit so well in the darkness surrounding us.

"Yes." He kissed me again and pulled back, lifting his camera to eyes.

"Take off my jeans." I went to work at the task then pulled them and his pants down to his thighs. He was grand and hard as I stroked him, soaked around the tip and trembling. "Do you want me?" he asked again and I answered with a moan. I spread my legs wider as my excitement built with each click of the camera. "So beautiful," he mumbled, over and over as his hips pushed against me. "I want you."

"I want you, too. Now."

He dropped the camera with a thump that made me cringe, but didn't seem to faze him in the slightest. He fumbled with his jeans for a moment, presumably searching for a condom, but I stopped him and told him that I didn't care and I trusted him and I wanted him… He kicked his jeans completely off as he lowered himself. He kissed down my body for a third time, nibbling and licking, lower and lower and lower still. My breath stilled as soon as I could feel his under my erection, over where I wanted him most.

I had never experienced anything like his tongue exploring me. It felt like too much and not enough at the same time. The heat of his paradoxical lovemaking had my body shivering and I almost couldn't handle it. My lungs felt heavy with screams I was too overwhelmed with to even let loose, so I could only breathe. I turned my head and rubbed my face into the soft fur, trying to concentrate on that feeling and not the raw pleasure between my legs, threatening to eat me alive. I remembering wanting to think that the noises Harry made in his preparation of me were lewd, but they only made me harder, only had me clenching the rug until my knuckles were white.

"Harry, Harry please! Please!"

He raised himself over me and pushed inside of me, slowly, carefully.

"Oh God," he said. He buried his face into my neck and breathed me in slowly.

Perfect will always be a word I associate with that night. I can close my eyes now and remember how he felt on top of me, inside of me, and I can smell his desire, taste his sweat… I had never felt more wanted in my life than in that moment spent in his arms, looking into his eyes.

"I want you," he told me afterwards and I smiled for a long time.

oO0OoO0OoO0OoO0OoO0Oo

The next day, I decided to make cookies.

They were about as successful as the Eggs Benedict from the morning before, but Harry humored me and ate them anyway. They were only burnt on the bottom, so it was easy to pretend that they were perfect. At least until they were in your mouth.

Harry ate three while I ate half of one. The rest he placed on a plate and left on the floor next to the fireplace. "For Santa," he told me and I laughed, falling back onto the fur rug and exclaiming that neither of us would get any gifts that year.

"All he has to do is pick up one and we won't have any next year, either."

He laughed at me again and said, "We should go shopping tomorrow. We'll take a cab and split up, then meet back here."

"Shopping? For presents?" He nodded and a slight panic came over me. "I don't know what to get you!"

He had the nerve to smirk at me. "Just get whatever you'd think I'd like."

So I spent the rest of the afternoon observing him and his likes. He seemed to enjoy basketball; it was often on the telly in his bedroom. He was in need of button-down and long sleeved v-necks, but I doubt that he would wear them as often as he did his baggy, stretched out graphic tees. Of all things – _graphic tees_. He liked sweets. He liked Rome. He liked me. He liked photography…

"Will you develop those pictures of me?" By now, I was sitting in the corner of his office, curled up on a short couch and watching him as he sent a few emails. I had a magazine or two to entertain myself with and the telly, of course, but my eyes periodically wandered to the back of his head. At my question, he turned, spinning in his chair, his brows arched with surprise.

"Do you want me to?"

I shrugged, though the question was racing through my mind. I was not sure if I wanted to see myself the way he sees me. The night before while in the moment, I felt intensely vulnerable and I felt free enough in my vulnerability to share it with him, but self-doubt was quick to subdue me. As if he felt me pulling back, he said, "If you give me permission, process them, but even then, I won't be putting them in a showing or anything like that, if you're worried – Not that they wouldn't look wonderful in a showing, I'm sure. You're beautiful… But those are private photographs."

His babbling made me smile behind my hand a bit, but niggling doubt made me inquire, "Do you have other private photographs?"

"What?"

"Have… What we did last night. Do you have private photos from… _incidents_ such as that?"

He flushed horribly and looked away from me. A hand lifted to fist a bit of his hair and, as if the hand was forcing him against him will, he reluctantly nodded. "From a long time ago."

"Can I see?" Can I compare myself to this other lover of yours?

This time both his hands fisted his hair then he stood, mumbling to himself, and walked across the room to a wall of file drawers that I assumed he kept his work in. Throwing me the occasional nervous glance, as if he was scared that I would run off at any quick movement, he opened drawer after drawer, searching. I took solace in the knowledge that he didn't have a file of a lover's picture on hand, but that did not lessen the size of the butterflies in my middle.

Finally, he held up a thin folder and handed it to me, his eyes on the ground. Before I opened it, I made space for him next to me on the couch. As he sat, he warned, "It's a woman."

Indeed it was a woman.

She was gorgeous.

Pale skin and bright hair, streaming all around her in copper waves, flowing across fluffy white pillows and curling against bright white sheets. She was naked, only covered with light and cinnamon colored freckles that trailed her small breasts and long neck, creating speckled paths along the arms raised over her head in some shots or reaching towards the camera… behind the camera in others… Picture after picture of this young redhead, her face a different shade of ecstasy each time.

I looked to Harry, expecting him to be as transfixed on the beauty as I was, but was surprised to see him looking at me. He was gnawing on his bottom lip and staring intensely as if nervous of what I was going to do. I lifted a hand to his cheek in encouragement and mumbled, "She's beautiful."

"You're beautiful."

"Harry…"

"No, I don't want you to –"

"Is this how you see me?"

He froze at the question for a moment then sighed heavily. He finally looked down at one of the pictures, the one in my hand, and took it from me. Her back was to the camera in this picture, her hair flipped over her shadow to show hundreds of freckles of which I'm sure Harry attempted pepper individual kisses on. Her head was turned so that half of her face was buried in a pillow, but that half that I could see held a smile and a prettily blushing cheek and a brown eye glittering with pleasure.

"I took those pictures when I was nineteen, Draco," he said suddenly and I nodded. As an editor of a fashion magazine, I'd like to think that I could recognize a beginner from a professional. "I had just started getting serious about photography and-and this… taking these pictures, with her, was nothing but playing with aesthetics. I crowed that I was cool and sexy and original, but really I just thought it would be hot to take pictures of a girl while I was shagging her. That's all it was."

"Was it?" I remarked coolly, flipping through more pictures.

He sighed. "Use your professional eye and tell me what you see in that collection of pictures."

"Passion, lust, want, sex, reckless abandon, freeness… Beauty… Hunger, desire… I don't know."

"There's a very important word missing from that list," he told me, taking the folder from me, shutting it and dropping it carelessly on the floor. "I guarantee you would find it in the pictures I took last night. Those pictures of that girl are the extent of what I felt as a teenager. I'm a man now, Draco. I've lived and I've learned and I know."

"Harry…"

He cupped my face and kissed me, softly and sweetly as he tended to do and he said, "I want you and I love you."

oO0OoO0OoO0OoO0OoO0Oo

**A/N:** Yeah, so when I said _this_ weekend in the last chapter, I meant _next_ weekend… No one believes me. lol Sorry! I'm thinking of ending the story next chapter, which would be strange because the fic is called 12 Days and one would think it would have a chapter for each day and it doesn't so… I confused myself. Next chapter is probably the last. (I'm kinda sad now.) _**–DMH**_


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